


The Song of War

by Neva_Borne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Anger, Angst, Battle, Captive, Captured, Caring, Child Soldiers, Complicated Emotions, Cultural Differences, Culture, Dark, Death, Emotional, Emotional Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Hatred, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Lots of Angst, Love, Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Mutual Trust, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn, Soldiers, Some Fluff, Survival, Trauma, Trust, War, children fighting a war, mentions/descriptions of childhood abuse, more angst than fluff, mutual understanding, power differential that gets resolved, warriors - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neva_Borne/pseuds/Neva_Borne
Summary: She's the only one of the Karus Warriors who survives the battle, but she is taken prisoner by the Corvinor soldiers who attacked her homeland. The commander who ordered her capture is unexpectedly drawn to her, and when their ship goes down on the way back to Corvinor, the two of them are unexpectedly thrust into an unfamiliar world together.If they want to survive, they're going to have to learn to trust each other. But can she ever really trust the man who took her captive, and can he trust that the warrior girl he saved won't seek her revenge against him?"The Song of War" is a story that explores trust, abuse, trauma, and the complicated relationships borne of war.
Relationships: Fern & Fabian, Fern/Fabian





	1. Chapter 1

The alarm sounded before the grey light of dawn had even begun to make its appearance in the sky. She scrambled out of bed, rubbing at her eyes as she stumbled to where her armor lay discarded on the floor. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her muscles, even as adrenaline flooded her veins and quickened her heartbeat. 

She slid the leather chest piece over her head, her fingers fumbling with the straps as she cinched it close to her body. Usually she and Vex would’ve helped each other, but the bed on the other side of the room was empty, and Vex’s body was on the burn pile that none of them had had the energy to light the night before. 

Swallowing hard against the unpleasant memory of seeing her friend’s body, bloody and bruised, pulled from the battlefield and into the pile of warriors that hadn’t survived, she pulled the leather bracers onto her wrists before grabbing her sword and running out the door. There was no time for grief now. 

She could hear shouting as she ran, nearby and accompanied by the clashing of metal on metal. The smell of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air. Only hours had passed since the previous attack that they had just barely beaten back, and even as she raced down the hall to join the fray, she knew there was no way they could win this fight. They were too tired, too few in number, and their enemy knew that. They knew it and they had decided to push their advantage and destroy them once and for all. 

Chaos ruled in the battle outside the warrior barracks. In the semi-darkness, interrupted only by the flickering torchlight and the occasional gleam of metal in the moonlight, it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between friend or foe, but she threw herself into the mess, managing to identify the enemy by the insignias on their armor. 

Her sword sang in her hand, slicing, swinging, plunging. Blood sprayed, splattered, pooled on the ground. Screams and shouts rang out, were cut off in sputters and gurgles as swords were plunged into chests, necks, slashed across throats, and bodies fell to the blood-soaked ground.

The scent of death was everywhere, choking her as she slipped on pools of still-warm blood, as she cut down soldier after soldier, as her fellow warriors were killed, one-by-one, by the advancing ranks of men with better armor, better weapons, larger numbers.

Hatred, anger, and grief drove her forward even as exhaustion slowed her movements, made the sword feel heavy in her hand. She was going to die, just like her friends, just like the rest of the warriors who had been fighting this war for too long, but damn it all if she wasn’t going to take as many Corvinor soldiers with her as she could.

Her eyes caught movement to her left and she turned to look in time to see the sword come down on Vaida’s head, watched her mentor collapse to the ground with the tell-tale slump of death, heard the scream that was wrenched from her lips as she turned to move towards the soldier that had killed her, to plunge her sword deep into his body.

She was distracted.

A soldier she hadn’t noticed caught her in the side with a swipe of his blade. The pain and force of the blow sent her staggering backwards, her feet barely able to keep her upright. Her sword slipped from her fingers as her hand moved to her side as though to try to stop the blood that she could feel soaking into her shirt, sliding over the leather of her armor, and dripping onto the ground. 

It was odd, she thought as her feet tripped over something large and soft and slippery and she fell to her knees, that she didn’t feel any pain anymore. Even as she raised her hand from her side and saw the dark red liquid trickling down her fingers, her palm, her wrist, there was just an overwhelming sense of numbness, a calm that erased all the painful emotions from the last few days, the months and years of fighting in this endless war.

Raising her eyes to the horizon, she felt the first rays of the red sun touch her skin as it appeared over the trees, and then she was spinning, spinning, spinning, and then she was falling into the darkness that had risen up to meet the other warriors.

And then there was nothing.

\---

She was floating through a thick fog or cloud, or maybe she was on a lake? She couldn’t move her arms to test out the idea, and the world all around her, what she could see, was just white mist, concealing anything else that might be out there.

She could hear singing, the ethereal voices of her warrior brothers and sisters creating a soft melody that was all-too familiar to her now; the song that welcomed fallen warriors to the afterlife. The melancholy sounds had haunted her dreams in recent months, as those who remained after each battle sang it more and more often, as the melody changed with each loss. 

Faces, blurry and distorted, as though reflected on a rippling pool, appeared all around her. Familiar faces, those of the more recently lost, and older faces that she recognized only from her childhood growing up within the warrior lifestyle. Children, younger than she, waved at her, their grins bright.

She remembered burning their bodies as they sang the funeral song, but they were here, and she was here, and that meant-

Distant voices, muffled and distorted to the point where no words were distinguishable, reached her ears, disrupted the peaceful tranquility of the white mist and the song echoing all around her. And then-

Pain rippled through her body as something hard connected with her side. She let out a cry, and she was confused, because she was still floating, the white mist still swirling above her, but there was physical pain and suddenly she was spinning around and around, the white mist disappearing as she was thrown into an unknown, impenetrable darkness. The haunting melody faded, though she tried desperately to cling to it and all the memories it held.

And then it was gone, and she was alone in the dark, suffocating, clawing for air-

She let out a gasp as her lungs finally filled with air, as her body rolled to its side and she attempted to curl in on herself, gulping down air as if she were about to run out. 

Her entire body hurt, her left side felt hot and sticky, burning with pain with every shaking breath she took, and she felt too hot, and the ground was wet, and  _ everything hurt.  _

“Hey!” A voice, so loud it felt like it was yelling directly in her ear. “This one’s alive!”

More voices, distant but drawing closer as they were accompanied by loud, clumsy footsteps.

“Alive?”

“What should we do?”

She needed to orient herself, needed to know exactly what was going on, and she forced her eyes open. A lifeless pair of light brown eyes stared back at her from the body of a soldier with the Corvinor crest emblazoned on their chest piece. A knife was stuck deep in his neck. Her eyes moved on, coming to rest on Vaida’s body, her skull cracked open, her mouth and eyes still wide in a silent death scream.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, trying to wrap her arms around herself as she felt the shaking become worse. It was real then. The battle had been real. Everyone was dead.

“Go get the commander.” 

Footsteps, retreating this time.

It registered, finally, that these voices belonged to her enemy, that they were standing around her, watching her, probably gleaning satisfaction from her helpless suffering. 

There wasn’t anything she could do. Her body was barely reacting to her commands at all. There was no way she’d be able to pick up a sword, if she could even find one, let alone manage to injure any of them. These men picking through the battlefield probably hadn’t even fought last night. 

Footsteps again, approaching. The set from before, hurried, clumsy, and a new set, calm, controlled, dangerous. 

“Sir, we found a live one!” The first voice spoke up, and once again it was too loud in her ears. She scrunched up her face, wishing she could cover her ears with her hands, but her hands were covered in something wet and sticky, and she couldn’t force her arms to move that way anyway.

Silence. Doubtless this newcomer, owner of the calm footsteps, was considering her as she lay on the ground, shaking and hurting and bleeding. Yes, she was definitely bleeding, from where her left side burned. 

She winced at the memory of the sword slicing through her armor as though it wasn’t even there, felt the impact of the metal on her ribs, heard the splintering sound she knew all-too-well. That explained why it hurt so much to breathe, why every single movement sent sparks of pain rippling through her body. 

“She looks pretty bad, Sir,” a second voice said, quavering slightly. “Should we maybe just… kill her?”

A pause.

_ Please, _ she thought, feeling tears leak out of her tightly shut eyes.  _ Please just kill me. Let me go. Let me join everyone else. _

“No.” A new voice. The commander. Deep, but younger-sounding than she had expected. “Take her back to the ship and have her tended to immediately.”

_ No,  _ she pleaded silently.  _ Let me die.  _

They couldn’t hear her, and she couldn’t make her tongue form the words to speak them. She could only lay there, shaking and crying and wishing she were dead, that she had died with everyone else.

The scream that escaped her mouth as one of them slid his arms beneath her body and picked her up was so raw and animalistic that if she didn’t feel the soreness of her throat, she never would have believed it came from her. The pain was blinding as the man’s arms pressed against her cracked ribs, her open wound, and she felt herself spinning round and round and round until she finally dropped off into a hazy darkness and the pain was tolerable once more.

\---

Flickerings of consciousness came and went over an indeterminable period of time. She remembered waking in a dark room, something cool being pressed to her forehead and gentle hands exploring her body, pressing on sensitive places that made her whimper before she fell back into the hazy half-sleep.

The next time she woke, someone was dripping water into her mouth from a cloth, and her body felt stiff and immobile. Her vision was blurry, she felt hot and cold all at once, her left side on fire, and when she fought against whatever held her down, a soft voice was paired with something cool touching her face, and she fell back asleep.

There were several more times when she woke to a semi-conscious state, but these were mostly brief, and everything was hazy, blurry, incomprehensible. The only consistency was the pain and the heat. 

When, finally, she woke properly, she was acutely aware that she was no longer restrained. Her left side still hurt, but it was less of a burning, sharp pain and more of a dull ache. 

She opened her eyes and met the cold grey steel of some kind of cell. She sat up and a wave of nausea rolled over her, forcing her to grab a bucket that had conveniently been placed by the side of the bed and empty the bile from her stomach into it, choking and dry heaving until her ribs felt like they were on fire again and she was struggling to breathe.

When she was finally able to set the bucket down and wipe her mouth on her sleeve, she became aware of a few more things. One, she was wearing clean clothes, and her armor was gone.

_ Not that it did me much good anyway,  _ she thought bitterly. 

The other thing was that wherever she was, the ground was rolling and pitching up and down, back and forth. 

No. Not the ground. The ocean.

_ “Take her back to the ship.”  _ That’s what the man had said, the one who had taken her captive.

Captive. Prisoner. Prize. Whatever she was, it certainly wasn’t an honored guest, because this room had barely enough space to stand with the bed pressed up against the wall, and the door was barred with a heavy lock quite obviously in place. 

This was all because that man hadn’t let her die. He couldn’t have done the honorable thing and sent a sword plunging through her heart and allowed her a warrior’s death, given her the opportunity to join her fellow warriors in the afterlife. And if she ever got her chance to put her hands around his throat, she would take it without a second thought.

She still felt queasy, though. She’d never been on a ship before. Her people had no need for them, preferring to hunt in the forests and plains, and fish from the banks of rivers. 

What had happened to the rest of them? The innocent townsfolk who had never been trained in combat, who weren’t expected to defend their village because they had the warriors there to face their enemies. Had the Corvinor soldiers slaughtered them too, or had they been merciful and let them live?

“I’m glad to see you’re finally awake.”

She raised her green eyes to the barred door at the familiar voice, shock reverberating through her as the man’s face became visible in the light of a nearby torch.

_ This  _ was the man who the other soldiers had called “commander.”  _ This  _ was the owner of the controlled footsteps, the one who had directed his men to take her prisoner and tend to her wounds rather than kill her or leave her to die with her brethren on the battlefield.

_ This  _ was the man who had taken away everything from her.

And he was just a boy.


	2. Chapter 2

Perhaps  _ boy  _ was a little much. She certainly didn’t consider herself a  _ girl, _ and he looked to be around her age, if not a few years older. But he certainly did not match the image she had conjured up in her head of a middle-aged man with decades of military experience, glowering down at her as if she were an ant to be squashed beneath his boot.

He was watching her, yes, but his dark eyes didn’t betray any disgust, merely interest. Curiosity, perhaps. He was studying her, like she might study a prey animal she was attempting to hunt down, or an enemy she was examining for weaknesses.

When she didn’t respond to his statement, he stepped closer. He was right outside the door now. If she moved quickly enough, if she took him by surprise, she could reach her arms through the bars and grab his neck.

Her muscles tensed in readiness, but she forced herself to relax, took a deep, steadying breath. She wasn’t strong enough, not yet. Her injury would slow her down if the pitching of the ship didn’t throw her off balance first. 

“Do you remember what happened?”

She snorted. “Do I remember what? That you’ve spent the past ten years attacking my people, killing us off piece by piece, slowly destroying our culture and causing our people to live in fear? Or do you  _ just  _ mean the battle where you finally managed to wipe us out, destroy what little culture remained, and where you killed everyone I cared about?” 

He had the decency to bow his head a little at her words, but even so, hatred pooled in her stomach, rising into her chest as her heart ached and her eyes burned at the memories of everyone she had lost, every _ thing  _ that was now just… gone.

She refused to cry in front of him, refused to show weakness now that she wasn’t lying helpless on the battlefield, praying that he would let her die. The memory of her scream echoed in her ears, and anger bubbled up with the hatred as she imagined how he saw her: a weak little girl who hadn’t had the strength to even crawl away from them as they discussed her fate.

“Why didn’t you let me die like the others?”

His head snapped up at her words, dark eyes meeting her blazing green, and a frown tugged at his lips.

“Why didn’t I-” he began, then paused, brows furrowing as he straightened to his full height. “Letting you die would’ve been dishonorable.”

“So instead of giving me a warrior’s death, you wanted to be a hero and save the poor, injured damsel?” She spat, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she stood up finally so she could face him properly. Her legs were unsteady, and the ship’s movement didn’t help, so she clung tightly to the bed frame, grateful that it was bolted to the wall. “Or you decided you wanted a victory prize, so you took the only thing that was left after your men destroyed everything and everyone else.”

“No.” He frowned deeper. “I saved you because you were suffering, and I’m not in the habit of being cruel, even to my enemies.”

“As if I won’t suffer just as much being your  _ prisoner.”  _

His cheek twitched and she noticed that his fists were clenched tightly by his sides. So, even this young, controlled commander could be riled up. Good.

He took a breath. “I am not here to debate my decisions. What’s done is done. Neither of us can change that now.”

Something about the way he said those last words made her hesitate, bite back the retort she had been planning on spitting out. 

“So what are you here for, then?” She muttered, sinking back down onto the bed as she felt her strength fading, as the adrenaline from the anger dissipated and her entire body just ached with fatigue and pain.

“To check on you.”

She let out a huff of air that might have been a laugh if she didn’t suddenly feel so defeated.

“And to ask you your name.”

Her eyes flicked back up to him. “My name?”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “Unless you want me to keep calling you  _ girl  _ or  _ prisoner.  _ I can oblige, if necessary.”

“Do I get to know  _ your _ name?” She asked, watching him carefully, framing the question innocently enough. In all honesty, if she ever managed to escape, she needed to know how to find him so she could exact her revenge, and knowing his name was the first step.

“My name is Fabian.”

She couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, but the movement sent flashes of pain rippling out from her left side where her ribs had just barely begun to heal and she cut herself off with a slight hiss. 

“My name is amusing to you?”

She looked at him, saw the raised brow, and resisted the urge to laugh again. “It’s just so fitting for a Corvinor, especially one as stuffy as you.”

He scowled. “You say that as if your people don’t name their children things like Tree or Stick or something else stupid.”

White hot anger flashed across her vision for a moment as she stilled, her entire body stiff as she just stared at him. Her lips curved up into a smile that did nothing to conceal the snarl beneath it.

“We’ve never had a child named Tree, or Stick,” she managed through gritted teeth. “But you know what we did have? Juniper. He was fourteen when your men killed him. And Lily. She was fifteen. River was barely twelve. She shouldn’t have even been fighting, but your men slashed her throat open anyway. Lionel, Vex, Vaida. Do you want me to keep going?”

“No, that’s enough.”

“Really? Because I can list more of the warriors that you killed.” She snarled. “June, Iris, Pieter, Hans, Di-”

“I said  _ enough!”  _

His dark eyes flashed as he interrupted her and she closed her mouth, swallowing as she frowned at him. She recognized that look, that flash. It was the flash of a wounded animal made more dangerous by its pain, and provoking him further would only cause her harm.

“I asked,” he hissed, “for  _ your  _ name.”

“You insulted my people.” She snapped back, despite herself. The memories of all those she had lost were hanging right at the surface of her memories now, and the pain she felt was threatening to overwhelm her. 

“Fine. Enjoy your solitude,  _ girl.”  _ He turned away from her and she watched until he was out of sight, then listened as his boots carried him down the hallway and far away from whichever part of the ship she was in.

Silence hung heavy in the air in his absence, and she bowed her head and finally allowed herself to shed the tears for her lost brethren.

\---

_ “Sword in your hand, you died a warrior’s death _

_ Far from this place you’ll find your final rest _

_ We will not stand at your grave and weep; _

__ _ You are not there, you do not sleep. _

__ _ When we awaken in the morning’s hush, _

__ _ You are the swift uplifting rush _

__ _ Sword in your hand, you died a warrior’s death _

__ _ Far from this place you’ll find your final rest _

__ _ You are the thousand winds that blow _

__ _ You are the diamond glints on snow _

__ _ We call out your name as the fires duly burn _

__ _ We fight without you as the world still turns _

__ _ Sword in your hand, you died a warrior’s death _

__ _ Far from this place you’ll find your final rest.” _

__ She let the last note hang in the air, her head bowed, tears silently trickling down her cheeks. The metal walls had created an echo of her voice as she sang, as she gave her fallen brethren the final goodbye that was sung for every fallen warrior, but it was a hollow replacement for the voices of all of them singing together. 

Over the years, the song had been burned into her memory as they sang it more and more often, as more and more of their warriors fell. The song used to ripple across the countryside, could be heard in the town that they had devoted their lives to protect, as hundreds of voices combined to create the haunting melody of the farewell. It dwindled over the years until barely twenty of them remained to sing.

And now it was just her voice, echoing against the walls of her prison as she sat on her bed and felt her ribs burn from the effort of singing, felt the tears run along the rough scars on her face and fall to her lap. She didn’t even know if they could hear her, so far from home, from their bodies that were probably still lying on the battlefield, being defiled by animals and insects. Unless the townspeople had burned them after the Corvinor’s left.

She could only hope.

\---

The hours passed slowly with no one to talk to and nothing to do except plot revenge against Fabian and every single one of his soldiers, and even that got boring after a while. She knew it was unlikely to ever happen, and it just made her feel more helpless, so she abandoned that too, turning to sleep to escape the monotony. 

Her sleep was not particularly restful, though. It hadn’t been for quite some time, as the toll of all the losses piled up, and only true exhaustion let her slip off into a deep sleep where the faces of her lost brothers and sisters didn’t haunt her. And while she was tired now, it wasn’t the bone-weariness that she felt after the adrenaline of a battle that allowed her to slip off to sleep.

Her dreams were hazy, unfocused, confusing, but they always left her with a bitter sense of loss and loneliness. This day was no exception.

She woke to footsteps approaching. 

Calm. 

Controlled.

She opened her eyes, forced herself to reorient to her surroundings: metal walls, an uncomfortable mattress, ribs that ached with every breath. When the footsteps were close enough, she spoke.

“Back to insult me some more?” She said bluntly, not moving from where she was laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the last vestiges of her dreams faded away.

The footsteps stopped short and she allowed herself a smile at the knowledge that she’d surprised him.

“How’d you know it was me?” Fabian asked.

Her smile turned to a smirk as she still refused to turn to face him. As if she was just going to explain how she could recognize his footsteps and give away the only possible advantage she had over these idiots. “Lucky guess.”

“I see,” he murmured, and by the sound of his voice, he wasn’t entirely convinced. “But… no. I’m here to apologize.”

She sat up finally, turning her gaze on him as her fingers wrapped around the metal edge of her bed, soaking in the frigid temperature of the steel. She raised her brows.

“Apologize?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have insulted your people. It was crass and rude, and it understandably made you upset.”

“You think your insult is what made me upset?” She scoffed, furrowing her brows. “You have a bigger head than I thought.”

She watched his jaw clench, his eyes darken. “I told you, neither of us can change what happened. I’m sorry about what happened to your people and-”

“Then let me go.”

“What?”

“Let me go.” She repeated. “Take me back. If you’re sorry about what happened, then let me go.”

“I… I can’t.”

The flare of hope that she had foolishly allowed herself to light flickered, faded, died.

“Why not?”

“It’s not up to me.”

She frowned. “You’re the commander.”

Something flickered in his eyes - uncertainty? - at her words and he glanced away from her for a moment. “You seem to know a lot more about me than I know about you.”

“Why does it matter?” She shrugged. “You’re going to take me back to Corvinor and either place me in a permanent prison for the rest of my life or sell me as a slave to some rich noble family. Or maybe I’m exotic enough to earn a place within one of the brothels; the warrior girl, up for grabs for whoever will pay.”

“Enough.” Fabian held out a hand, his brows furrowed. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Then what exactly are you planning on doing with me?”

“Does it matter?” He huffed.

She let out a bark of laughter.  _ “‘Does it matter’  _ says the man  _ not  _ locked in a cage bound for the country of his enemies after almost being killed by those same enemies.”

“Look,” he sighed. “I don’t know what will happen to you. But it won’t be a brothel. Underage girls don’t go to brothels.”

“Exactly how old do you think I am?” She asked indignantly. Her eyes searched his face, her brows furrowed deeply.

He frowned, shrugged. “Fifteen?”

She frowned deeper in return and crossed her arms - very slowly and carefully so as not to put too much strain on her ribs. “You’re about as wrong there as thinking my name was  _ Tree.”  _

“Well you’re not exactly giving me much to go on.”

She stood up, turning so she was facing him head on. Her legs had adjusted to the pitching of the ship and she stood steady, unaided by the bed or the wall.

“Why do you care so much what my name is?”

Another shrug. “I don’t, really.”

“You’re awfully persistent for someone who doesn’t care.”

“I was trying to be nice.”

She raised her eyebrow.

Fabian crossed his arms. “It’s a long trip back to Corvinor. I figured you might like someone to talk to.”

“And I get the honor of this person being the commander of the ship?”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

She considered him for a moment. Despite the loathing she felt for him, his people, for what had happened, there was something about him that just seemed… off. And she couldn’t quite place what it was.

Not that it mattered. He was still one of  _ them  _ and he had still led the charge that had destroyed her home, her culture, her people.

She stepped forward until her face was inches from his, the only thing between them the bars of the door. She could feel his breath on her skin, see the imperfections on his nose. “Let’s get one thing straight,  _ Fabian.”  _ She snarled. “You are not my friend and I am not here for your entertainment. I am here because you  _ took me prisoner  _ after killing everyone I loved, and if you ever get to know my name, it’ll be because I’ll tell you right before I cut you open and watch you die.”

For a moment it looked like he might lose it. His jaw clenched, his hands were balled into fists by his side, and he exhaled furiously several times. 

“I didn’t kill your people.” He said, finally.

Fury flared up in her and she grabbed the bars, not caring that the sudden movement hurt or that he didn’t seem frightened. He was safe beyond the bars, after all.

“You gave the order. That’s the same thing.”

“Fine.” He said, finally. “Enjoy your solitude,  _ prisoner.”  _


End file.
